Who We Are
by ronniekins77
Summary: A series of Peter/Claire drabbles.
1. Bethrothed By Brush Strokes

**A/N: **This fic isn't really a fic, but a collection of Peter/Claire drabbles I've written. They were all written after the show's first season, but before the second. Most of them were written with a theme in mind, given by the community Livejournal, **pairechallenge**. I hope you all enjoy!

This particular drabble was inspired by the challenge _Hidden_.

--

_Bethrothed By Brush Strokes_

Peter pays his respects to the painter by cleaning out his loft, treating his art with reverence.

His eyes scan over the sharp lines of color on the canvases for hours.

Reaching for a sketchbook hidden underneath a pile of half-finished drawings, Peter opens it.

When he nears the back of the book, his hands tremble.

There's a watercolor of him and Claire; they're smiling brightly at each other.

What shocks him is that she's in a wedding dress and identical rings are on their fingers.

His gaze drops to the bottom of the page.

_Isaac Mendez  
6 Years Old_


	2. Rosa

**A/N: **I should also probably mention that these drabbles don't directly relate to each other. There's no continuity going on here. ;)

Written for the _Five Years Gone _challenge.

--

_Rosa_

Five years have gone, but he remembers.

(the cheerleader; a waitress)

Hair curled around his hands.

(nathan's daughter; his niece)

Smiles that made him shiver.

(indestructible; a freak)

His whispered, "I'll always save you."  
Her whispered, "I'll always love you."

(just Claire; she was never just Claire to him)

It's on the news and he vomits when he sees her red stained skin; Niki cleans it up.

(she was so much more)

He places a silken rose on the grave.

(light and air and innocence; his only reason for living)

He never wants to forget.

He knows he never will.


	3. Svart Mara

**A/N: **Written for the _Dreams/Nightmares_ challenge.

--

Monsters in the closet, walking naked down school hallways, his big brother saying, "I hate you".

He jolts awake, shaking, and cries out for his mother. She comes, presses sweating bangs away from his eyes, cradles him in her arms. "Everything will be okay, Peter," she whispers.

Blood on his hands, fire-red bombs, a madman saying, "You're the villain now."

He trembles, face haunted, and she hugs him like always. But he yearns for the one he can't have; his niece, his Claire. "Everything will be okay, Peter," says Angela, and she knows.

The nightmares will never go away.


	4. Burned This Time

**A/N: **Written for the _Fire _challenge.

--

_Burned This Time_

Sandra looks at her daughter and thinks of a dinner table conversation from so long ago.

Claire, fork awkwardly held in her hand, saying she had walked through fire without getting burned.

She turns to her now. "What is it?"

Sandra's eyes go to the picture in her daughter's hands; a man, bangs falling over his face, smiling uncomfortably at the camera.

"Nothin'."

She hates Noah for forcing their little girl to go into hiding.

Claire looks horrible with brown hair.

_Oh, honey,_ Sandra thinks, staring at the sad smile on her face, _you never should have played with fire._


	5. Visitatore

**A/N: **Written for the _Calendar _challenge.

--

_Visitatore_

His visits are sporadic, sudden, short.

Sometimes he flies to her window and waits for her to let him in. Sometimes he teleports, startling her when she's doing her homework. Sometimes he just knocks on the door.

Each time he kisses her; slowly, longingly, pouring every part of himself into her so she can hang on to it when he's gone.

Her plans vanish when he comes; her life revolves around his visits.

He has no calendar, no concept of time, and he hates watches now. All he knows, all he wants to know, is her.

She's okay with that.


	6. I Can Only

**A/N:** Written for the _Imagine_ challenge.

--

Her father would read to her while she was snuggled up in pink blankets, blonde curls splaying over her pillow. She'd imagine that she was the damsel in distress saved by the knight in shining armor. A dreamy smile always danced across her face as she fell into slumber.

He liked to read comic books at bedtime, hoping they'd lull him to sleep so he wouldn't have to hear Nathan's loud snoring. He'd dream that he was a hero, loved by all.

In a hallway at Union Wells High School, they found each other.

They don't have to imagine anymore.


	7. Goodnight, Goodnight

**A/N: **Written for the _Picture/Lyric _challenge.

--

_I'm sorry_

_I did not mean to hurt my little girl_

_It's beyond me_

_I cannot carry the weight of the heavy world_

--

_Goodnight, Goodnight_

After months of hiding, of sneaking around, of whispered "I love you"s and soft kisses, it all comes to an end.

Snuggled on the sofa, the credits on the TV screen roll and they're in the dark. She's almost asleep and he's moving his fingers through her hair, slowly savoring the feel of her curls caressing his knuckles.

He knows what has to be said, what he should have said before they started this whole thing.

"Claire?" His voice is quietly broken; she doesn't hear him, asleep against his chest, her blonde hair creating a bright halo in the darkness.

He should shake her awake, tell her why they can't be together, but he can't bring himself to disturb her. Mentally, he calls himself a coward. She'll hate him for this, he knows. She never cared what anyone thought.

But images of his mother and brother swirl through his head, of society's stares and Noah Bennet's horn-rimmed glasses, and he knows that he's doing the right thing.

"I'm leaving," he whispers to her sleeping form. Her response is to shift slightly in his lap, her foot brushing lightly against his, and he breathes deeply. "I love you."

He'll stay with her for a few more hours, hold her a little while longer, and in the morning she'll wake up to find a note.

_I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you._

- Peter

He'll be in Las Vegas by then.


	8. Black Stained

**A/N: **Written for the _Breakdown_ challenge. Sequel to _Goodnight, Goodnight_.

--

She can't believe that he's gone, that there's nothing left of him but a note with his untidy scrawl.

She searches for him everywhere, but it's worthless and she feels sixteen all over again, powerless to find the man who melted the sky and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. She had broken that night, but he'd healed her with his return.

There's no hope of being mended now.

Clinging to the note, her small fingers trace over the lettering of his name and her tears splotch the ink, leaving her fingers stained.

Black, like the breakdown of her heart.


End file.
